


In Spite Of All The Danger

by faultysfaux



Category: West Side Story (1961)
Genre: Canon amounts of Racism, Child Abuse, Gen, Kinda, Pre-Slash, Racism, Riff Whump, So here you go anyone who's interested, There were hardly any stories of these two, physical assault, suggestions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 19:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultysfaux/pseuds/faultysfaux
Summary: Bernardo gets a look on the Americans' side of the fence for once. [Based entirely on the film and the Jets many references to child abuse therein/This is almost definitely canon divergent.]
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	In Spite Of All The Danger

**Author's Note:**

> I really wished these guys had just talked things out, so here is my reality while I struggle through some writers block.

"Freedom stinks"

Not the greatest or most refined lyricism ever penned to brickwork, but it expressed Bernardo well in the moment.

Sitting just below a line of colourful swears and a picture of Lady Liberty plastered to the side street wall - now bedecked in a general-esc moustache and cap - it all blended rather well.

He felt his fingers twitch around the paint dauber, but he couldn't think of anything else that really spoke to him. Maybe he could just rewrite the same words a few blocks over...

There was a loud crash of metal bins from the street, but it hardly caught his attention.

He was the head of the best gang this side of the city. He wasn't likely to crumple into a nervous wreck at the first cat tipping some rubbish about.

Maybe a few choice words towards Americans in particular would look good around one of the Jets' old tags.

The hard pounding of footfalls heading his way did have him stall.

The night was cool, almost cold, and there wasn't a soul around that was up to anything much better then he was - steps echoed loudly in the vacant streets. The paint splashed as he half slid, half kicked it and the dauber behind a discarded crate. He may be a leader, but he wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't above jumping into the dirt to save his neck. Pride wasn't worth much when a cop had him up against the wall.

There was the faint sound of yelling - Bernardo instinctively leant into the bricks and out of the more direct lamp light.

If he could have guessed what would happen next he might have walked straight out of the alley right then and there. He might have gotten out as fast as humanly possible, and saved himself quite a bit of trouble. But life has a way of happening whether one plans on it or not.

It was the head of the Jets; barreling round the corner right into Bernardo's path, so fast he caught on the edge and stumbled, looking down at his feet. It took a moment for Bernardo to believe what he was seeing, and in that time "Riff" had come to a dead stop three feet from himself.

He was a mess. Bernardo couldn't help the smile that came to his face as he took in the split lip and brow that marked the other boys face as he gaped at him. More foot beats had Bernardo's grin widen, especially when the Jet spun to look over his shoulder at the bright street. More of_ his_ Sharks no doubt making a perfect example.

'Down here amig-'

Bernardo had begun to shout, but the Jet swung at him with a frenzy of movement. Before he knew it he was shoved back against the wall, his breath lost, and made a wild grab at the boy grappled round his middle. He was shoved back again. The pain in his back came second to the horrible stuttering of his chest; hardly noticing himself being dragged, moved, pulled along until he managed to restart the airflow into his body without it being strangled out again immediately.

And yes, he had been moved.

It was in one of the small near tiny breaks between adjacent buildings where the wall cornered around an old chimney stack that the Jet had just about wrapped himself around Bernardo, pinning him against the brickwork. Confused, Bernardo tried to yell out, but a hand came up to clap firmly over his mouth. This little boy was playing hide and seek instead of standing and fighting. If only he could get his men's attention. He kicked, he strained, he knocked his head into the other's to try and make him let go, but to no avail. The Jet had a tight desperate grip and the more Bernardo struggled, the more ardently he clung on.

Bernardo stamped down hard on what had to be a foot, pleased when the boy hissed out in pain. Then a voice came from the alley and both boys froze instantly. It wasn't any Shark.

'Where are you you little brat?!'

It wasn't the voice of any kind of young person.

Steps skittered away down the walkway, and there was the distinct sound of a dumpster being opened and slammed shut. He could also hear the fast breaths of the Jet, clearly being muffled through his nose but not nearly enough. And then the steps coming back their way - well of course, Bernardo knew that this alley ended in a fenced off store back.

He would have said it was impossible but the Jets grip tightened even further. The boy's fingers were surely cutting into Bernardo's face and arm then.

A voice once more echoed through to them.

'I seen you come this way. Get out here now while I'm still holding my temper!'

Another crash of metal and the Jet's harsh flinch told Bernardo it probably hadn't been cats he'd heard banging around earlier. The sound of the lid spinning on concrete overlaid him slowly adjusting his head so he could meet the other boy's gaze or at least try to - the Jet was watching the edge of the darkness, their protection, like a mouse readying for an oncoming pounce.

He couldn't believe this was how his night was turning out. If he did anything in his life again, he would never put one more piece of graffiti up in this city. Clearly it was a cursed past time activity.

With a resigned and very awkward sigh - through his nose only - Bernardo released the handful of yellow windbreaker he'd been holding onto, to take a hold of the hand covering his mouth. _That_ had the other boy pay attention again. He almost jumped off the ground as he jerked to meet Bernardo face on.

Their eyes met and Bernardo tried to convey his meaning in their stare. He pressed digits beneath digits and pried upwards. The Jet was much worse then a mess now, the blood from his face mingling with sweat, streaked downwards. The head of the West Side army Bernardo fought so hard against from the moment he set foot on this rock, the always cool, smart mouthed, collected leader that in the worst of moments Bernardo envied, and the boy he would join in a laugh or lie with whenever a police officer or store clerk so much as raised their head. And the boy who's hand felt colder than ice, and tremoured at a constant, right here right now, who looked as far from that cool calm confident boy as someone could get.

'F*ck!' it sounded as if an entire trash can had been tipped now.

The Jet's head made to turn back again and Bernardo saw his chance, he heaved against the hands under his and he finally breathed free air. The other boy was only jolted back a foot or so, but it was enough, and taking advantage of his clear avoidance of drawing attention Bernardo shoved him hard towards the opposite side of the gap in which they were hidden. Then stood straight, and stepped forward into the alley din. He heard the scrape of the Jet's jacket on the concrete like glass breaking as he scrambled back into their corner, unbelievably grabbing at Bernardo's pant leg as if he was about to pull him back to safety. _Childish_.

'I knew it, you little b*st*rd, get the hell-'

The man before Bernardo wore a dress shirt and pants, he was as tall as himself and had the exact same hair as the boy five feet behind him. He also had blood on his knuckles and a sneer across his face. He pulled up short when he took in Bernardo before him.

'Siento Señor. I... Was just on my way home.'

Bernardo leaned hard into his "y"s and played up the pitch of his voice. He learnt that trick by the time he got home from his first trip to the market for his mother. In Puerto Rico that is. English speakers were all alike.

'What?'

'Way home,' Bernardo repeated.

'I heard ya' spic. God dammit', ' he leaned back and dragged a hand over his face. Bernardo - if he had to guess - would say this man was quite drunk. 'You seen someone come down here?'

Bernardo shook his head.

The man took a step towards him.

'Now I know this guy came down this way and he didn't come out again, you suppose he just went and disappeared? No. So where'd he get to.'

'Please sir-'

'Where?!'

With faux wide eyes Bernardo pointed to the fire escape of the nearest apartment block. The ladder hung eight feet above the air. He honestly wouldn't have put it past the Jet to have made the impressive jump if Bernardo hadn't appeared in his way.

'You playin' me?'

Bernardo shook his head and took a step back.

'Sh*t. Piece of trash, not worth my time...'

The man continued to curse and seemed instantly to forget Bernardo existed as he turned away. He paced to the mouth of the alley to look up and down the road for a moment before he kicked over a crate and disappeared from where he came from.

Bernardo held still in the silence for minutes, just to make sure.

Night had fallen completely and Bernardo realised his breath had begun to steam in the icy air. He pushed his hands into his pockets and turned on the spot to look behind him.

He could see the faint outline of the jet in the dark. Still close to the ground.

'Quick thinking Be'nardo.'

That voice sounded the exact same as it had everyday he'd heard it before. As if nothing at all different had happened.

Bernardo scoffed and paced into the alley whilst the sounds of the other boy picking himself up and dusting off filled the air.

A snap. A match flared. A cigarette lit the shadows warmly. He still couldn't see the other very well.

'In some trouble princesa?'

The Jet said nothing, but offered out his pack of cigarettes. It shook.

'I don't. Smoke.'

A shrug and the hand dropped.

Bernardo wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to do. But he definitely wanted to do more than stand in a cold alley with his greatest enemy and some clear lines in the dirt that had just turned to mud.

'Do not think this changes anything-'

'Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.'

Bernardo narrowed his eyes at the shadowed figure.

'I do not see an American letting go of such useful material.'

The Jet finally came towards him again, and yes, he looked just as terrible as before, but now he had his comfortable expression back in place - even if his jittery feet told a different story. A slight smirk twitched at his lips.

'Way I see it, you and I just met on a fortun'nate of circumstances, of which no one need know. Imagine my credibility if one of my people were to hear of this. Or if yours. Unnecessary chaos agree?' he punctuated with gestures of his cigarette.

'That seems quite acceptable. However, I still do not trust your word boy above that of a rat on the street.'

That smirk disappeared again thankfully, replaced with a scowl and sneer as he spoke.

'Words hurt Be'nardo. And I thought we was about to get somewhere. Here, try this out, I owe you one.'

Bernardo held his stare. It had been an age since even a car had passed by.

'Very well. Now,' And with that he snapped his arm out to the left and bowed slightly - it made no difference considering their respective heights. 'Riff' huffed a breath but imitated Bernardo with a jaunty salute thrown in.

'Pleasure as always.'

"Riff" just about limped as he walked past him all the way to the mouth of the alley, and Bernardo watched him sentry-like, never letting his eyes stray from the boy for a moment. Then the Jet shook himself, shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, cigarette forced firmly between his teeth and edged a look out both ways down the street. Still a child afraid then. His head turned and his eyes met Bernardo's.

Bernardo didn't move or look away. And for some reason "Riff" laughed - just another huff of steam into the frigid air - walked on with less of a dip on his right, and was gone instantly from Bernardo's awareness.

He was standing alone in a wintry backstreet with the remnants of blood on his palms, and Dios if anyone knew what had just happened.

There was paint on his shoe.

Bernardo swore loudly and began a quick march back home where there would be warmth, better laughter, and the understanding of how hard it was to get paint out of fabric. His eyes caught on the long ago hastily hidden paint can as he passed.

If he did anything in his life again, he would never put one more piece of graffiti up in this city.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you got something from this. Even if this story is twelve years old I would still appreciate a review if you did. Just to let you know I have an idea on another part to this story but lord knows when I'd actually get around to posting it so I'm sorry about that. Hope you have a nice rest of the day.


End file.
